Riches in the Night
by Jeni
Summary: A couple months after Iola's death, a the Hardys have to figure out who is robbing the waterparks and cope with their grief at the same time.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: This is the first time I have written Hardy Boy fanfiction, and the first time in nearly a year that I have written any type of fanfiction, so please go easy on me!! Please give me feedback-do you like the story, hate it? Since I'm not sure whether I'll continue this story any suggestions or thoughts would be greatly appreciated. Thanks!  
  
Joe Hardy rocked back on his heels and yawned. The day had been long for him-far too long- and though nothing exciting had happened he was still tired. With a sigh he reluctantly picked himself up and stood. He was wanted at home-why it was so essential he didn't know, for there was nothing unusual, nothing out of the ordinary in the back-to-school routine. Yet. There was some sense of danger, a forbidding feel to the air. he glanced about the swaying trees and frowned. Something big was about to happen, something that would involve him, but was not at all good. He shook his head. Foolishness. Pure and idle foolishness. He was letting his boredom control his imagination and create tension where there was none. Sighing, he mounted his powerful motorcycle, kicked it into gear, and a few seconds later was well past the beach. As he rode, his mind wandered to his abrupt summons. His father had called him on the motorcycle's radio, informing him that something had come up and Joe was needed immediately at home. He would say nothing more of the matter-indeed he had said nothing else- but insisted that Joe come straight home. Try as he might, Joe could not understand why his solitary evening on the beach had been interrupted. He supposed it could have something to do with a case, but his father was currently on no assignments, and he would have mentioned if his status had changed. Regardless of what the reason was, Joe could not help but hope it was a case. The entire summer had been far too relaxing, and he looked forward to a challenge. And although the idea of sleepless nights, boring stake- outs and hurried rushes did bother him slightly, he was eager for excitement. Wasn't he? He tried to tell himself that whispered feeling of doubt was just his nerves, that the summer's laziness was finally getting the better of him. Truth be told, he enjoyed loafing around and not having anything to do. Realizing he just contradicted himself, he sighed. Maybe he should get to sleep early; as soon as the strange business he had been summoned for was taken care of , he would go to bed. He reached his house and turned into the driveway, shutting off the engine the instant he was in the garage. He placed his helmet on the back of his cycle, stood. and nearly collapsed as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He grabbed the back of his cycle, desperately trying to clear the fog in his mind and control his churning stomach before his father, brother-or worse, his mother- came out to check on him. They would have heard the garage door open and close, would have heard the noise of the engine before he shut it off. Then, as quickly as it had come, the dizziness vanished. He shook his head, frightened and more than a little disturbed. The experience had left him shaky and more tired then ever, but it was not worth mentioning to his family. They were already worried about him, and the incident would merely add to their concern. Joe knew he had become withdrawn and quiet since the death of his girlfriend, Iola Morton, but it couldn't be helped. He was distancing himself from everyone around him and he knew it. He wanted to be alone-needed to be alone. He just hoped they understood. With a sigh he pocketed his keys and trudged through the door; his father could be kept waiting.  
  
* * *  
  
Frank Hardy heard the garage door open from where he sat in the kitchen. His eyes met those of his father's and what he saw was mirrored in his own: no more. The days of relaxation and playing are over. I just hope that's a good thing. He glanced at his plate of food and blinked wearily. He did know how Joe would react to the news of a case, though at one time the prediction would have been far from difficult. His brother loved cases, loved the excitement and danger they brought to an otherwise ordinary day. But Joe was different now, subdued and quiet, and Frank had no way of understanding how he felt. Maybe Joe would refuse the case. Maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he would accept only to put himself in the line of danger continually, with no regard for his well- being. Maybe- Hearing a noise in the doorway, he looked up to see his brother. To say Frank was surprised would be more than an understatement; it would be a downright lie. His six foot, blond hair, muscular brother used to be a cheerful, outgoing teenager with sparkling blue eyes and a face that hinted at mischief and pranks yet to come. But that person was gone, replaced with a quiet, pale seventeen year old boy who glanced uncertainly around the table. There was no air of mischief about him, no joking manner in the way he slowly edged toward the table. He was an entirely different person. Frank opened his mouth to comment, then snapped it shut. What could he say? That his brother looked terrible and needed to quit thinking about Iola, that by reliving the nightmare he was only torturing himself? That by doing so he was letting the Assassins win? For he knew that they were the indirect cause of Joe's transformation. They had killed Iola in a bomb meant for Joe and him; her death had been a harsh blow to both brothers and to their friends. But it effected Joe the most. He hadn't even spoken to Chet since the incident at the mall, where they had nearly been killed by The Bullet, and Frank suspected his brother was purposefully avoiding him. As he is us all. "Joe, thank you for coming so quickly." Fenton Hardy, world famous detective, smiled warmly at his youngest son, and Frank turned his attention to the conversation at hand. "Please, sit down." Mr. Hardy watched his son select a chair furthest from the rest of the family, drag it farther away from the table, and sit. Suppressing a sigh, he continued. "I must apologize for calling you home early from your. day off, but it couldn't be helped." "Naturally." It was the first time since coming home that Joe had spoken, and Fenton started. While he was glad that Joe was listening, he couldn't help but wish his son's comment hadn't sounded so. sarcastic. But he continued speaking smoothly, as if Joe had remained silent. "As I am certain you already know, Bayport had been overly quiet these past few months. It's been very peaceful. Not that it usually is not, but this is different. strange, even. No criminal activity has been reported in nearly three months; there have been no attempted bank robberies, no hold-ups-nothing. But all that has changed." He paused, glancing at Joe expectantly. His emotions, once so easily read, were now hidden. His son's face was a mask of stone, and not even his eyes betrayed his thoughts. Mr. Hardy suppressed a shiver; now was not the time to discuss Joe's emotional state, no matter how necessary it seemed. There would be a time for that later, when he and his wife, Laura, were away. Frank had requested it to be that way, and both Fenton and Laura agreed it would be best. Joe wasn't one for discussing his emotions and would close up unless alone with Frank. "I received a call today about an hour before I radioed you. Your cousin Jay has been having some problems and needs our help. Your mother and I are leaving first thing tomorrow morning. Jack Wayne won't be taking us, so he will be here in case you need him." "What does this have to do with me?" Joe asked quietly. He wasn't sure why, but that strange sense of forbidding was beginning to wash over him. But it was crazy! There was nothing wrong save for Jay's problems, and that seemed rather trivial compared to Iola. "I was getting to that. Shortly after Jay called I received yet another call, this time from Mr. Ely Dobbsins. I assume you know who he is?" "Owns all the water parks in town. Small man, brown hair with receding hair line and glasses." Frank answered. Fenton nodded. "It seems there have been several robberies at various amusement parks throughout Bayport- WaterWorld and Wet 'N' Wild have both been robbed twice. Twice! Mr. Dobbsins is afraid the others will soon be hit as well, but hopes to prevent the opportunity from presenting itself. He wants you two boys," he glanced first at Frank, then at Joe, "to investigate. He'll be calling in half an hour for your answer." Joe frowned. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, or whether he even approved of the case or not, but Fenton was fairly certain he did. "Clues?" "Very few. Whoever's responsible is a professional. They knew exactly what to do and exactly when and where to do it." "Inside man?" "Possibly," Fenton agreed. "And to be honest that was my first impression. But now?" He shook his head and sighed. "Now I think it is a set-up. Someone wants us to believe it was an inside job; it takes the pressure off them enough to pull another run. "It sounds like a very dangerous case, boys. I want you to promise me you'll be careful; no rushing into things or taking unnecessary risks-" here he looked at Joe, who smiled faintly. "Do I have your word?" "Yes, Dad." Fenton acknowledged Frank's promise with a nod and waited for Joe's response. When still the blond boy said nothing, Fenton sighed. "Joe?" The younger Hardy gazed at his plate for a moment, lost deep in thought; Fenton frowned. This was not at all like his son, who spoke before thinking, who somehow managed to say the right thing without hesitation and with extreme ease. He looked over at Frank and was not surprised to see the older boy watching him. He gave a slight nod, which Frank returned. Frank would talk to his brother tomorrow. But for now. "It's late. Your mother and I are going to be bed; I advice you to do the same after Mr. Dobbsin calls. And remember, you don't have to accept the case." He waited a moment for Joe to contradict that statement- neither Frank nor Joe had ever refused a case, and both protested vehemently at any mention of not accepting or finishing one- surely this would be no different! But his youngest son remained silent, and Fenton was wise enough to let that silence slide. With a sigh he turned away. It was late, and he was tired. He just hoped he could sleep despite the worries and fears that continued to plague him. He thought again of Joe and his deepening isolation. He thought of Iola Morton and her tragic death-a casualty that should have been his sons. He remembered his shock, the relief and sorrow upon hearing she was dead- but his sons were safe! He remembered all too clearly the conflicting emotions, the sleepless nights as he worried for his family and hunted for the ones responsible. He did not sleep that night.  
  
* * *  
  
"Could you please tell me where we are going?" It was morning-early morning- so early, in fact, that the sun was not yet even up. Joe sat huddled under a blanket in the passenger seat of the van, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice. When he had agreed to take the case he had done so believing his brother would be working with him as they normally did, but so far Frank had told him nothing except they had an appointment with Ely Dobbsin and were going to be late. Why it had been scheduled for five o'clock in the morning, Joe did not understand. Perhaps Mr. Dobbsin was afraid of being seen by the thieves. That was all very well and good, and it was good to be careful, but there was such a thing as being overly cautious and this. this bordered on the line of paranoia. "We're going to visit Ely Dobbsin. We need more facts then the ones he gave us last night." "You meant the ones he gave you." "I told you everything I know last night. Remember?" Joe frowned. Certainly he would have remembered any details regarding the case, yet he could recall nothing. Oh, he remembered Dobbsin's call easily enough, and he remembered Frank discussing the information on the phone, but that was all. "No, I don't remember. Not really." He scowled. He knew he shouldn't be angry at his brother, yet he couldn't help the feeling of frustration that washed over him. Joe was impulsive and reckless- a trait that had gotten him into trouble more than a few times- but despite his reputation he didn't always act without thinking. He was quite capable of thinking situations out when necessary or when he wanted to, and this was once of those times. Only he couldn't because he didn't have a clue as to where they were even headed. Frank must have sensed his mood. "We're going to Ely Dobbsin's place, or more specifically, one of his places. Wet 'N' Wild was the first and last place to be hit so there may be some clues. Anyway, it's worth checking out." "There may be some clues at Water World, too," Joe pointed out. "True. But Wet 'N' Wild is more likely to have fresh ones. Besides, it's closer." "Not by much." "But still closer." They rode in silence then, each lost in their own private thoughts and not willing to share them with the other. Frank particularly was worried about his younger brother. Hopefully this case will pull him out of his depression. Maybe it'll distract him enough to forget about Iola-not permanently, of course, that would be disastrous- but just enough to move on. But wishing and contemplating the matter would not help. Joe needed a distraction, and if this case didn't provide one Frank would simply have to think of something else. starting with Chet Morton and Joe talking again. Frank himself had seen Chet several times after Iola's funeral and the fight in the mall, enough to realize the Mortons did not blame Joe for Iola's death. Convincing Joe of his innocence, however, was another matter entirely. It was a matter that needed to be confronted with much haste and caution. And then there was the case itself. Ely Dobbsins had revealed little over the phone, claiming it was a security risk to discuss details of the case over a possibly tapped wire, and while Frank understood his point he couldn't help but feel a little frustrated at the lack of details. And if he felt that way, Joe must be feeling ten times worse. But it was of little matter now; they had reached Wet 'N'Wild and would be meeting with Dobbsins soon enough. They parked the van near the entrance, jogged to the door, and punched in the security code. The door swung open quietly. They entered, making certain the door closed behind them, and found themselves in a corridor with several doors. "That one." Frank pointed to the only opened door. "That should be Mr. Dobbsins' office." They walked down the hall in silence. Frank lead the way, eager to hear more about the case but realizing caution was always necessary. His brother followed silently behind him. Then they were at the door, and Frank stepped inside. He was just about to turn to his brother when a figure caught his attention from the corner of his eye. He turned and gasped; there in the middle of the office was the figure of a man. blood pooled from his head and lay congealing on the floor. Without an instant's doubt Frank knew who it was. It was Ely Dobbsins. And he was dead. 


	2. Unexpected Events

Author's Note: Thanks to all the reviews! Sorry it's been so long since I last updated, but believe me or not, it wasn't my fault. *Rolls eyes* Somehow, I completely forgot that I changed my email address, so when I tried to log in it wouldn't let me. And it took me how long to figure this out?  
  
Don't ask. Anyway, thanks for drawing my attention to the formatting of the first chapter. *wince* That is NOT what it looked like before I uploaded it. Hopefully this chapter will turn out better. If not, I'll have to pull it and try uploading it again. Anyway, thanks again for all the support! Onto Chapter Two!  
  
Dead. Their only link to the case was gone, and where the clues had once been slim, there were now none. Frank sighed wearily. The day had begun well enough with the promise of a new investigation, yet it had rapidly taken a turn for the worse. Questions swarmed his mind, demanding answers when he had none: why had Dobbins been killed? Had the thieves suspected the Hardy's involvment, and if so, why? They themselves hadn't imagined being offered this case, not when the water park robberies had been kept secret.  
  
A policeman spotted him and offered a quick nod of sympathy; Dobbins was dead, yet the case wasn't closed. It was, Frank thought grimly, even more dangerous than before, and Chief Collig would undoubtedly request their removal immediately. Not that it would matter- he had no jurisdiction over them- but he would still try. Or would he? Frank cocked his head, thinking back to the previous night. They'd been hired over the phone, true, but Dobbins had mentioned a letter, stating that the case belonged to the Hardys. Ely Dobbins' last wish was for the case to be solved; there was no chance Frank would ignore that wish, and he knew the Chief could not do so either. Well, not in clear conscience, anyway. He could order them off, to stay away from the crime scene until the killer was caught, but only if the letter went undiscovered. If he and Joe could find it and convince the Chief to let them stay.  
  
He shook his head. His plan was simple and would require little work, yet he was assuming Collig would take them off the case. As harsh and uncaring Collig sometimes seemed, he wasn't stupid. If the Hardys could find the killer, so be it. Of course, that wasn't usually how Collig viewed situations, but there were exceptions. He could only hope this would be one of those times.  
  
A second later he was proven wrong.  
  
"Frank!"  
  
And then his brother was there beside him, looking slightly pale in the room's dim light. "Con's here-he said we're not to get involved with this, that the police will handle it. Frank- they want to take us off! Again!"  
  
The frustration in Joe's voice was apparent. Frank nodded, glanced around, then motioned his brother into a corner where they wouldn't be disturbed. "Remember," he said calmly, "that Con takes his orders from Collig."  
  
"Yeah," Joe grumbled. "I think that's kind of hard to forget."  
  
Frank rolled his eyes. "Listen to me, will you?"  
  
He waited until Joe gave a startled nod before continuing.  
  
"You're forgetting something. something that will give us the power to continue this until it's solved- something neither Con nor Collig can deny as legal. Dobbins was paranoid after the robberies, remember? Wouldn't even meet us in daylight, instead devising this meeting as a way to 'fool the burglars.' Yet he knew things we didn't. He knew these aren't just petty thieves looking for a buck or two; they're murderers, murderers who will stop at nothing to achieve their goal. What that goal is I can't say, and neither can you, really, but that's beside the point. What's important is Dobbins' death in itself; it was no accident- not with us coming to meet him, and the timing was no coincidence, either. Someone killed Dobbins to keep him quiet, yes, but also to warn us. They couldn't attack us directly without causing every police officer and some Network agents getting involved, so they did the next best thing."  
  
Joe nodded. "They gave Collig the power to remove us," he whispered. "But they didn't know about the letter Dobbins wrote!"  
  
"Right. With luck we can find it and show it to the Chief. Then he'd have to respect Dobbins' wish and let us continue."  
  
"But why bother? Collig has no authority over us." Joe grinned. "We rarely listen to him on our other cases; why should this be any different?"  
  
Frank shook his head. "At the moment we have no allies. Dad's out of town with Mom, our client was just killed. we don't want to risk getting arrested or forced into protective custody."  
  
There was a moment of silence, and Frank knew what Joe was thinking: the police would be watching the water parks closely. They would not hesitate throwing them in jail for meddling with a crime scene, but it was more likely they'd place both brothers in protective custody. They could do both, too, and hiding would make investigating very difficult.  
  
"All right," Joe said. "We find the letter and show it to the Chief."  
  
Frank grinned. "Good boy."  
  
"On one condition, though!" Now it was Joe's turn to grin. "You show Collig the letter."  
  
* * *  
  
It was dusk when the girl emerged from her hiding place. It had been a long day for her, beginning with her Uncle's murder. He knew it would happen; that was why he had shoved her into the passageway, why he had called in to two detectives for help, but it was too late. Seizing the opportunity, her Uncle's enemies had been swift and certain- they had not, however, counted on a seven year old child overhearing their entire conversation. Not that it would matter, of course. If she emerged from hiding they would kill her and her Uncle's murderers would walk free. Even protected by the police they would reach her, or simply scatter back into hiding and vanish. Her only choice then was to hide. Hide and bide her time, until her chance arose. Until then she would wait patiently, documenting the details as in her mind as neatly as if stored on computer. and then the murderers would pay.  
  
She paused, staring at her Uncle's desk. It was his fault she was in this mess, yet she couldn't hate him. She was a young girl, with dark brown hair and blue eyes that stared solemnly. Yes, she was young, but only in body. Her mind was sharp, clear and calculated, and she understood what her Uncle had not: the murderers were nothing but that. Murderers and thieves. Their intention was not to help Uncle Ely, nor to help her, but to become rich in that very pretense. She understood this in the beginning, and it wasn't until a week ago that Ely realized their plan: rob him and use her as hostage if there was protest. That was why he had hidden her here, in this strange catacomb beneath the connected water parks. That was why he had marked the passages with symbols of her religion.  
  
And that was why he was dead. Furious at being tricked, the murderers had killed Uncle Ely without a second thought. She didn't even think they knew about the two detectives-what were their names?- being hired. It was slightly ironic, really, that he was killed on the same morning the meeting was to take place.  
  
She sniffed, brushing back tears. This was not the time to cry, not when her Uncle needed her to bring his killers to justice. After all he had done for her- raising her, teaching her, and dying for her-it was the least she could do. Turning, she entered the secret passage and followed the tunnel marked with encircled stars. Her Uncle would be honored. She would see to that.  
  
* * *  
  
Several days later the Hardys were standing in the Chief's office. It had been a long search- so long, it hardly seemed over- yet it had been successful. Clutched tightly in Collig's hand was the desired article; it had been hidden in the wall, and if Dobbins himself hadn't assured the brothers of its existence, it would still be hidden. But it wasn't. Collig was reading it now, an angry frown plastered on his burly face.  
  
"So," he said in an icy tone, "the famous Hardy brothers are about to do it again. A man dies in a vacant water park in the dead of night- a water park which, I might add, was robbed but a week ago- and who should turn up? A couple of hotshot boys-"  
  
"Now wait a minute-" Frank began, but Collig ignored him. "who think they are better than the law. Not only that, they think they're invincible! A man has been killed, yet the Hardys don't mind; foolish, really to be frightened over such a trivial detail when a case is concerned, don't you think? And do you think they care about how I'll feel when I'm forced to call their parents, informing them about their sons' deaths? Of course not! And why is that?"  
  
He paused to take a breath, and Joe ventured acidly, "Because we're invincible?" An elbow to his side silenced him before continuing the offending comment. Frank turned to Collig with a smooth, placating gesture.  
  
"Really, Chief. This discussion is quite unnecessary; we came here with a single goal, just one purpose in mind: to give you the paper and begin our investigation, an investigation that will bring Dobbins' killers to justice. Step one of our goal is complete, and I'm certain it would be beneficial to all if you let us take the case. I think," he added with a quirk of his eyebrow, "that we are in agreement of the matter? The killers need to be caught?"  
  
"Yes, yes, of course." Collig waved his hand irritably. "However-" here his voice dropped to his normal growl-" I cannot help but wonder at your timing. For instance, why bring this note to me now, three days after the killing? It hardly seems likely you simply waited, biding your time until now."  
  
It was one of those moments in life where a room, so full of tension, could have shattered at a single breath, and looking back Frank realized how lucky he had been. Normally Joe would have retorted instantly, using a witty wisecrack to anger the Chief and force Frank to scramble for an apology, but his brother remained quiet, still.  
  
With a pang of regret he knew why; Iola's death was still fresh on Joe's mind. If anything, they needed this case for Joe's own health. It was enough to strengthen his resolve. But how to reply? He had little time before Joe snapped back, and things would rapidly go downhill from there. Oh, Collig could not pull them from the case (not with the found document), but he would not hesitate to hinder their investigation. And hinder them he would. Frank remembered several months ago, before the Bullet and the death of Iola, when the Chief had attempted to place them in protective custody. There truly had been no need for it; sure, Joe had been kidnapped and ransomed, and an arrow had narrowly missed Frank's head, but it was no more dangerous than any previous cases. it was impossible, trying to investigate a case from over a thousand miles away, inside a locked and heavily guarded building. That had been their argument then, and it would be their argument now. If it came to that. It was highly improbable, for if handled correctly Frank could gently remind Collig about the 'protection' given to them.  
  
With no regard to their protests, the brothers had been swept away to a base in Southern California- a base, ironically enough, that brought the brothers more danger than ever before. He remembered his satisfaction, his amusement when the gang they had been tracking attacked the base. leaving no one but Frank and Joe to send a distress signal. But hopefully the conversation would not reach such a point. He sensed, rather than saw, Joe open his mouth to protest, and he blurted out, "We could not find it. Dobbins informed us of his wish the night before his death, as he informed us of this note." He gestured toward the paper in the Chief's hand. "He realized he was in danger (though I don't think he knew the full extent), so he wrote a note and hid it."  
  
"He did so with little time to spare." Joe's voice was harsh, unfeeling. "He was killed a mere hour or two later."  
  
"Indeed," Collig muttered. "Well, I can hardly argue with you and this legal parchment. I can, however tell you to be careful." His face softened. "And good luck."  
  
"Thank you, sir."  
  
"Don't mention it. And I truly, truly mean that."  
  
With a grin the brothers stood, grabbed the paper, and left. It wasn't until they reached their car that the subject of the investigation was approached.  
  
"I don't know, Joe." Frank turned the key and fastened his seatbelt. "I just have a feeling we need help with this one. And you know it's bad when I get those." He grinned hollowly. Truth be told, he did have a feeling, but it wasn't just him. After telling Con about Ely, the officer had expressed his concern for Joe- a concern that wasn't completely unfounded. The younger Hardy had become withdrawn and pale over the last few weeks; Iola's death shattered their secure world.  
  
But if Joe would just talk to the Mortons, understand that he was not blamed for anything, then maybe his depression would lift a little. Over the past few weeks Frank tried to convince Joe to visit the farm, only to be refused time and time again. It seemed impossible, and he was just about to give up when the case arrived. Now was the perfect time to act, now, when Joe couldn't refuse their friend's help. He was startled out of his reverie with Joe's reply.  
  
"If you told me what you thought, I could answer. But when you repeat, 'I don't know, Joe,' and 'I think you should listen to me, Joe,' it becomes rather difficult. I'm a good detective, but I'm not that good. Neither are you, really, so I voiced my reply. about five times, I might add."  
  
"Sorry. But this is a good idea, and you really should-" a glare from his brother cut him short. "Oops. I guess you're right, I have been repeating myself. Sorry. Anyway, I think we need help with this case. We're both tired now, and have nowhere to begin."  
  
"And?" The suspicious tone implied foresight to their next destination.  
  
"And I think we should see Chet. It wouldn't hurt, you know, and he deserves better than being ignored."  
  
Joe sighed. He had suspected this, of course, but even he could not deny the Frank's logic. Chet had been their loyal friend and sidekick for as long as he could remember, and it really didn't seem fair to cower and hide whenever he came near. Joe understood this, but actually going, actually speaking to and seeing Chet. it was impossible! How could he face his ex- girlfriend's brother after the last case? After all they had been through?  
  
That, he realized, was the answer. After all they had been through, he owed it to Chet. He owed him the opportunity to forgive and forget, to continue being his friend, even with his sister gone. But it was so soon, only a few weeks after the Bullet's deafeat. He took a deep breath, stealing himself for the inevitable. It was now or never, and in some cases never was better, but this time it was not. "Okay."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Let's go find Chet. But the rest of the gang will be upset it they're left out. Especially Callie."  
  
Frank grinned. It wasn't much; Joe still seemed tired and depressed, but it was a start, and maybe when the case was over things would return to normal. It was highly unlikely, for Iola's absence would prevent things from being truly normal again, but it was a start.  
  
And with that, he was content. 


	3. Unexpected Visitors

Riches in the Night, by Jeni: Chapter Three  
  
*Author's Note. Okay, this chapter may seem a little strange and out of place, but trust me. It is important to the story's plot-in solving the mystery and helping to lighten Joe's depression. See keep that in mind when you read it, please! Also, because the story never uploads the way I want, things that should be in italics will be marked like this *. That's pretty much it for now-please R&R! Oh, and if anyone has any suggestions for making uploading with the correct format easier I would love to hear them! Thanks!*  
Chet Morton stepped off his porch with a loud thump. It was early-so early, in fact, the sun had not yet risen, but he was not sleepy. It was unusual, for normally he disliked getting up any earlier than he had to, but today he couldn't bring himself to care. Time flowed slowly and quickly, endlessly and freely; ever since Iola's death he either paid little attention to time, or too much attention.  
  
Iola. Thinking of her always brought a lump to his throat. His sister, his beautiful, cheerful sister, was dead. No longer would they tease each other, no longer would they plan pranks on their parents, no longer would they help the Hardys on a case. which brought him to another point. Chet did not blame the Hardys for Iola's death. Had they known, they would have prevented it, but the attack had been so sudden, with no hint of danger, that preventing it was an impossibility. Not that any of that mattered. What was done was done, and no amount of wishing could change it.  
  
But he had chores to complete, and standing still contemplating recent events would do nothing. Hurriedly he grabbed a bucket of chicken feed and dumped on the ground before moving to collect the eggs. The egg collecting normally was Iola's chore-the chickens liked her and allowed her to gather the eggs with ease, but whenever Chet tried. he winced. But at least this time he was armed. Hefting the slender stick in his hand, he stalked over to the first nest. The hen was watching him suspiciously, as if she knew his plan, and he gulped. Slowly he reached his hand toward the nest, intent on gathering the eggs without scaring her. Quicker than a flash her beak snapped; if Chet had not been expecting the move and snatched his hand away a scant second later, his fingers would be bleeding. But he had, and they weren't. Even so, he wasn't willing to try a second time. It was time for his secret weapon.  
  
"So," he told the chicken grimly. "It has come down to this. I asked you for your egg nicely last week, and you attempted to eat me. This time I tried to take it-true, I didn't ask, but I *do* feed you and its only polite to give me something in return." He shook his head grimly. "But enough of that. You want to be stubborn, that's fine with me. But I'm stubborn as well, and this method has never failed me yet. Sure, that's only because I've never *used* it before, but that's hardly important." He extended the stick slowly. "You are getting sleepy." Once he was certain the hen was preoccupied with it (he hadn't believed his plan would actually work!), he made his move. Gently reaching under the hypnotized chicken, he extracted the eggs. It was only until they were in his basket and he was to the next nest that the hen realized the theft, but the poor animal was too confused to be angry.  
  
One by one, the other nests fell to the power of hypnosis, and so it was with no small pride that Chet left the chicken barn. After all, he had never succeeded in stealing eggs before with not even a mere scratch! And if chickens could be hypnotized, then other animals could, as well! He could just imagine all the possibilities, all the chances at fame. Chet Morton, the lion tamer! Or, Chet Morton, trainer of all animals! It did have a nice ring to it, he thought smugly.  
  
"Isn't it too early in the morning to be skipping across the lawn?" Came a voice from behind him. He gasped, whirling around in surprise. Unfortunately, the whirl off- set his balance, and the basket with his precious cargo escaped his grasp. It sailed through the air toward the speaker and landed with a loud 'smack!' on the person's head.  
  
The unlucky person's companion laughed. "Chet, old buddy, that was great!"  
  
It was Tony. The teenager was laughing so hard he was crying.  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Real funny," grumbled a voice. Chet groaned; he knew that voice like he knew his own.  
  
"Biff! I'm so sorry! You startled me!"  
  
"I should hope so," came the wry reply. "I certainly hope you didn't do that intentionally. Still, it's better the eggs hit me instead of that stick."  
  
Chet moaned. "My eggs! Are they broken? I just spent all morning collecting them and that was my breakfast!"  
  
"One breakfast, anyway," Tony muttered. "Still, I understand why you're upset. You worked hard despite your vow not to, and now your reward has been spoiled. Although in this case I'd say you had it easy. Poor Biff will have to change clothes!"  
  
"But I can't!" Biff wailed. "This was my only clean pair of clothes! I told you, the basement flooded during last night's storm. All my clothes were down there (all except this pair), and have yet to be cleaned! What am I going to do?"  
  
Chet shrugged. "I'd offer you some of mine but they're too large." Ignoring Tony's snicker, he continued. "Frank or Joe probably have a pair you could borrow. I'd suggest Tony but he's too short, and Phil's out of town for the weekend."  
  
"Oh, yeah. Joe." Immediately the three friends sobered. They had tried calling Joe several times throughout the past week, only to be told the younger Hardy was away. And it was true, too. A couple times they had stopped by the house to confront him only to be met by Frank. Still, it was early enough in the morning for Joe to be there, and if they hurried they might be able to catch him.  
  
The silence lasted, until Chet could no longer stand the tension. Breaking into a sprint, he called back, "Last one to the car is a rotten egg!"  
The ride to the house, Chet decided as they pulled into the Hardy driveway, was one of the funniest moments in his life. In their haste to meet Joe they accidentally went a little faster than allowed and were pulled for speeding. Although it really had been quite unfair, Chet mused as he unfastened his seat belt. Sure, they had been going twenty miles over, but there hadn't *been* any other cars on the road.  
  
But the funniest part had been wriggling out of the ticket. The friends hadn't even developed an excuse to give, or a plead to receive just a warning. No, the officer had simply stuck his head in the car, turned green in the face, and agreed to let them leave with no ticket or warning.  
*"Just make sure you take a bath*," the officer managed to say. *"Better yet, take two baths*."  
  
A snicker from Tony caught Chet's attention. "Hey, Biff. Stay away from the kitchen, will you? You don't want to be accidentally cooked, do you? Sunny side up?"  
  
"Will you shut up about the egg jokes already? First it was the rotten egg one, then the bath, the 'hey, Biff, stay away from that dog- it'll-think-you're-a-chicken-and-try-to-eat-you, and now the cooking joke. What next?"  
  
Chet shrugged. "I wouldn't ask if I were you. After all, it's mostly been Tony making these remarks. Just wait until Joe finds out what happened. Hah! He'll tease you for a week!"  
  
"At least his jokes are somewhat creative," Biff muttered. "A four- year old child could have done better than yours."  
  
"Now I resent that!" Tony cried. "My jokes were masterfully done. A work of art, they are. Why, someday I'll have my own tv show. Giggles and Laughs, they'll call it. I'll be so funny, the audience will wet their pants!"  
  
Biff gave an exasperated nod. "Oh, yes, very famous. Sounds just like my kind of show."  
  
They reached the door and were about to knock when it swung open. Frank stood there, eyebrow raised. "I heard you coming," he said as he ushered them inside. "And I'm glad you've come. Something came up a few days ago and we need your help- what's that smell?"  
  
Biff coughed. "Well, um, that would be me. See, Tony and I went to the farm this morning, and Chet was doing a weird sort of dance."  
  
"Kind of a mix between ballet and a jig," Tony chimed in.  
  
Frank rolled his eyes. "Something tells me I don't want to know. It's against my better judgment, but continue."  
  
"Well, it was really funny, you know?"  
  
"Yeah, he had a basket of eggs in one hand and a stick in the other. Personally, I thought he was rehearsing for a play, but Biff didn't agree with me."  
  
"Absolutely not! Chet rehearsing? This is the same fellow who refused to learn his lines as a main character, remember? The same play that he actually went on stage in a giant hot dog costume? Man, the director was furious!"  
  
Frank laughed. "I remember that! It really was mean of you, Chet, and the director had every right to yell at you."  
  
"Yeah," Chet moaned. "But he didn't have to ruin my hot dog costume!"  
  
They chatted for a time then, Tony explaining Biff's unfortunate encounter and Frank describing the case, and would have continued if not for a noise from the stairs. It was Joe, but not the Joe they knew. He looked pale and tired, but a tiny gleam of light shone in his eyes, and they realized his attention was channeled into the mystery. No matter what the situation, Joe never denied a case. Indeed, he seemed almost glad of the distraction, and the friends felt the case might snap him out of his depression.  
  
Upon seeing them, he stopped short. They regarded each other in an awkward silence that stretched on until even Frank seemed nervous. Finally, just when Chet was about to say something, Joe asked in a confused tone, "Frank? I thought you said we were out of eggs."  
  
For the next several minutes the only sound heard was laughter and the muttered grumbling from Biff, while Joe watched on helplessly.  
Twenty minutes later, the teens were sprawled in various positions throughout the living room floor. Biff had taken a shower (despite Tony's constant reminders about his promise to the officer), and was dressed comfortably in Joe's clothes.  
  
"So," Frank said. "We have a murder but no suspects. There are no clues, no apparent motives other than greed, but why kill Dobbins for money?"  
  
Joe shrugged. "Dobbins might have known too much. Maybe he discovered the robbers' identity and was about to turn them in. In order to keep their money and freedom, they killed him."  
  
"But why wouldn't he write that in his note? Maybe his killers aren't the robbers; maybe there's more to this case than at first glance."  
  
Frank sighed. "Believe me, Biff, we thought of that. But it doesn't add up. He didn't have any enemies that we could find. he was simply a wealthy man who became paranoid once the robberies began. But that has nothing to do with why he was murdered- at least, we don't think it does. This whole case is confusing, and we have no clues or background information in which to start."  
  
"What I don't understand," Joe said quietly, "is this: if he was so paranoid as to write a letter to Collig, explaining this case is ours, then why not write more? Why not give us background information or at least a hint about the suspects? I think he knew he was in danger. I think he had time enough only to write what he did and hide it before he was killed. Had he lived but an hour or two longer, we would have more information."  
  
Tony nodded. "That makes sense."  
  
"Except for one part." Frank said. "If he knew he was going to die, why'd he stay there? Why not call for help or try to leave? There's something we're missing here, some important piece of the puzzle." he trailed off, lost in thought.  
  
"It truly is a difficult case," Chet commented. "It's very confusing and you've little to go on. But I think you'll solve it even without our help, but I'd just like to say you have it. As long as it isn't too dangerous, of course," he added hastily. "A fellow could lose ten pounds from fear alone!"  
  
As soon as the words left his mouth he realized his mistake. Suddenly all teens were grinning and teasing, saying he needed more cases, and how they would each take turns scaring him. The teasing went on for a while, and was just coming to a close when a muffled knock came at the door.  
  
"I got it!" called Joe. A second later, his voice drifted from the front door, sounding slightly baffled. "Uh, Frank? There's a calf here!"  
  
"A what?"  
  
"A calf! You know, a baby cow?"  
  
The teens looked at each other, similar expressions of disbelief on their faces. Had they heard him correctly, or was he simply playing a trick? In a twinkling they were crowding at the door. True to what Joe said, a calf was standing on the front porch, peering into the house. Mouths agape, the teenagers could do nothing but stare until, in a perfect imitation of Gertrude's voice, Joe asked, "Oh, dear. By any chance Chet, was there any milk in your egg basket?" 


End file.
